The Devil's Shore
by Ethos
Summary: When two young boys have their wishes answered and become Naval Officers, it seems all the world's been handed to them... Until a new mission sends them to another world in search of a magic flower and a eerie, blonde boy greets them on a strange shore. Will they be able to save the dying queen or will even saving themselves prove too great a task? (My take on Hook's backstory.)
1. Prologue: Seeking a Future

Author's Note: Ok, this fellow fascinates me, and with his backstory soon to be revealed, I just had to take a shot at this. This is my best guess at Hook's past; a sort of bet against myself to see how close I can get... or to see if I like my version better. I may throw in some more "flashbacks" as future chapters... maybe not. We'll see. (Oh, and please review the good, the bad, and the ugly. It's been a while since I've written, so I'm rather curious to get your feedback.)

"Get back to work, Lad!"

The boy snapped up his mop from where he'd been leaning against the cabin in a rush and began hastily dragging it back and forth. Scales and bits and red-tinged water swished away from his feet. The moment the First Mate looked away though, his movements became sluggish. He'd had just about as much of this as he could stand. Do that, Lad! Fix that, Lad! Run up the mast, Lad! Never a word of encouragement or praise, just an unending list of errors and tasks that he'd not done quickly enough. Then there were the practical jokes at his expense: a dime a dozen, and the hard biscuits and salted pork for days on end. Oh, and the smell. That truly sealed the deal for him.

His eyes searched for the shoreline that was supposedly ahead... somewhere, but with the haze there just wasn't any hope of making out anything too distinct off the bow.

"Bloody-!" He hopped precariously onto one foot, bringing the other up and spotting the bright metal of a fishing hook buried in his bare heel. It was all he could do to keep the tears off his face, but he didn't have a death wish. He wasn't about to cry like a girl in front of the whole crew. Instead he bit out a few of the more colorful curses he'd been practicing and snarled, "Liam! I need a hand!"

A ways away a slightly older boy poked his head out from behind a stack of barrels, his dark hair in a mess. Whatever Liam had thought to say dissolved though in an instant as he cringed. "What have you done to yourself now, Killian?"

"I've stepped on another bloody hook!" he snapped, working hard to keep his balance on one foot as the ship swayed. When Thean drew near, the two boys seated themselves on the deck, the older studying the younger's foot and drawing out a knife. Killian clinched his eyes shut and looked away, biting his lip hard as the hook was cut out.

"You've got to be more careful," the elder chided as he bound up the little wound, but Killian's lip began to quiver.

"I'm sick of it," he groaned. "I hate this boat. I hate the captain, the crew, the whole bloody lot of it! When are we leaving Thean? When are we getting out of this hell. I can't keep doing this much more."

"Shhh!" There was a long pause as Liam glanced around for anyone who might've been listening. It seemed they'd been granted a reprieve though. None of them wanted to be responsible for patching up a child's hurts. "Killian, you're just going to have to get used to it. There's no were else for us to go."

"Sure there is! We can go on land, we can get work there. We'll be our own men, not living by the old Mackrel's every word."

"And do what? You can't just go over there and get a job. You have to be good at something. Do you know how to farm? Raise an animal? Smithy? Chop wood? Neither do I. Sailing's the only bloody thing we know, and it's what we have to do! It's that or starve. So get back on your feet and keep at the deck, and for once, mind that you don't step on anything?"

The boys glared at each other for a long moment; dueling sets of blue eyes trying to make their point where words had failed. Killian was the first to glance down. Just as they began to stand and head their separate ways though; Killian snatched a fistful of Liam's shirt and pulled him right back down, a broad grin slathered across his face.

"Sailing's all we're good at? Fine! Then let's sail! But not on this schooner. We'll join the navy!"

"What?"

"We'll carry swords and learn to fight and go on grand adventures seeing places that no one's ever seen before and capture pirates and take their ships as prizes and rescue ladies. All the girls always stare when soldiers walk by!"

Liam frowned shook his head. "Killian... Killian! It's not going to happen. That life's even worse. You've seen how the deck-hands get treated on those ships."

"No, we'll be officers! And NO ONE will tell us what to do. We'll go to parties and drink good port when all the rest of the crew is drinking dreggy grog, have a room to ourselves and eat butter!"

"Killian!" Liam's shout finally seemed to stem the flow of Killian's enthusiasm as the boy stopped to stare at him. "It's never going to happen. Do you know why officers are rich? Because they were already rich. You have to buy a commission to be an officer in the King's Navy. Do you have that sort of money lying around? 'Cause I know I don't!"

Silence fell.

One of the deckhands started to eye them and the two boys scurried to their feet, throwing themselves back into their work, but before they left, Killian hissed a quick, "I'll get it... somehow."

That evening, after they'd finished their evening meal and all save the night crew were crawling into their hammocks, Killian found himself perched high in the rigging, watching the last of the sunlight fade over the horizon and playing the argument he'd had over and over in his mind. Liam just wasn't the same anymore. He was broken, hopeless, defeated. Just surviving was enough for him now, when it never had been before. The memories of a not-so-distant past, when they'd imagine slaying dragons and wining the praise of kings and doting damsels, stabbed at him. It was all their father's fault. He'd left them. Bloody coward. Bloody dishonorable worthless get! Left them to fend for themselves. Left Liam to try to be a parent before he was even finished being a boy, and Killian was so keen of it...

There was one thing the bloody villain had taught him though. Eyes lighting on the first star that poked through the deep blue, he found himself wondering if it was true. If there was actually something of value in anything the old man had ever said. He couldn't remember the first few words of it, but the rest slowly worked themselves out into a hushed mutter, "First star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight. Please...we need a future."

Nothing happened.

Foolish. Of course it wouldn't hold true. It was just like everything else. He gave a long sigh and slid down the ropes. A few moments later, he was fast asleep in his hammock.

"Killian... Killian."

"What?" he asked groggily and blinked several times when he saw a woman in a glowing blue dress. She definitely hadn't been on board the ship earlier.

"Take this," she said, and handed him a small, dark gem that glowed a host of different colors. "When you make port, take a left on the first road you see after walking off the pier. Seven houses down, there will be a building with a green roof. A man lives there who would very much like to have this jewel. Bring it to him. You'll be doing him a great favor and he will reward you handsomely. Buy a future for both of you." In a bright flash, she was gone.

When Killian woke the next morning, he frowned to himself for a long moment before sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out the bright gem. Brows rising, he stared at it, rubbed it between his fingers, even licked it to assure himself it was there. Then, all at once, he sprang up and shot up the ladder. "Liam!" he shouted, not caring that the other hands heard him. After all, his brother was running toward him, he held a gem in his hand, and the horizon showed land fast approaching. Killian grinned.


	2. Setting Sail

Author's Note: And the story continues. Let's see if I can beat the next episode to explaining Hook's origin. :D I'd love to hear your thoughts, critiques, comments, etc.

They made landfall around noon and disembarked promptly. Boots clunking onto the planks of the pier, Killian paused and straightened his uniform. Six months at sea and he hardly knew how to stand anymore. It would take some effort to project professional bearing whilst attempting to keep himself balanced. He grinned, watching his brother's reunion with his wife and small daughter, but averted his eyes promptly when the couple displayed their affection. A few other members of the crew were finding themselves caught in the midst of fond welcomes, but there were enough seeing to their duties that Killian didn't feel too out of place. A moment latter, a young boy, a midshipman by his dress, came scurrying through the crowd waving a sheet of parchment and handing it to Liam.

"Lieutenant," his brother called from up ahead where he'd been speaking to a runner. "See to the prisoners and meet me at the Admiral's office. It seems we're not destined to be ashore long."

"Aye, Captain," he snapped back sharply, throwing a crisp salute and about-facing to face the ship. "Sergeant! Gather the prisoners and bring them out, and mind you, no reprisals." He eyed the seedy man with a knowing look. They'd lost men in the battle and it was all too easy for a crew, who viewed themselves as family, to turn their minds to revenge.

It didn't take long. The pirates came shambling out in their chains, cursing, and spitting and making a general nuisance of themselves in this respectable area. There were bruises and cuts across their faces and arms, but then, such marks were also on his crew from the fight. At any rate, none of them seemed too fresh, so with a nod, Killian and a handful of men began moving them toward the jail where they'd await the King's Justice.

It didn't take him more than a minute to complete his task. Then he was walking down the street and running up the stairs to come to a halt directly in front of the door to the admiral's office. He smoothed his hair, straightened his uniform, and took a few deep breaths to slow himself. Then, straight and tall, he rapped on the door.

"Yes?" came a gruff voice from the other side.

"Sir, Lieutenant Jones requests permission to enter," he called back through the door.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, lad, stop standing on ceremony and come in!" Careful to keep a smirk from his lips, Killian took hold of the great oaken door and pushed it open. "Tawny or Ruby?" the admiral added, holding a decanter in one hand and a small glass in the other.

"Tawny, Sir. Thank you."

"Have a seat."

Killian sat in the leather chair to his brother's left and took his glass with a nod. The first sip made him want to lean back and prop his feet on the Admiral's desk, but he was hardly so foolish. Instead he leaned forward and raised his eyebrows.

"I was just telling Captain Jones that I'm afraid your leave's been cancelled. For that matter, your time ashore is going to be limited to the time it takes to resupply."

Killian tried to keep the flicker of emotion from hopping across his face, but he or his brother must have failed because the admiral eyed them both for a long moment with a somber expression.

"You've just gotten back. I know this is hard for you, no time for the women in your lives, or your child, but the situation is grave. Something's gone wrong with the queen and the babe. She's near death, and... Well, I'm sure you've heard the rumors of a flower that cures all ills, even age? We've got some actual intelligence concerning it recently, and our best crews are being sent abroad to search for it. The two of you do too well for your own good." Here he stopped and shuffled through a stack of letters on his desk, and holding them at arms length with squinting eyes, he began to read. "By far the best map of the islands to date, on par with the great cartographer, Schafer's, work... Jones brothers exemplified the highest ideals of the Kings Navy when a merchant vessel was floundering in a storm by bringing their ship perilously close, boarding, and helping to make repairs on the spot. They then guided the ship to safe harbor. No casualties... At three bells a pirate ship was spotted off the port bow bearing 200 guns. I ordered the ship to engage. Broadsides were used initially to little effect, but later shots succeeded in destroying the pirate mast and making her take on water. Lieutenant Jones led a boarding party resulting in the capture of the enemy ship. Of particular note, Lieutenant Jones, at great personal risk, fought through the enemy to one seaman who was gravely wounded and beset by several pirates. He drove off the pirates and pulled the seaman to the safety of his fellows before leading the charge to secure the forecastle. The enemy ship was captured; however, it was later abandoned as it was taking on too much water and could not be adequately repaired. The prisoners were taken to the brig and treated humanely per the King's decree. Of His Majesty's crew: four are dead, ten wounded." The admiral smiled and peeked above the papers at last. "That last, I suppose, is a surprise to you, young Jones. Your brother speaks highly of you."

Killian fumbled awkwardly before offering a grin. "How could he not, with all the opportunity I afford him? Frankly though, I've learned it all from him." That wasn't entirely true. Liam had been instrumental in his life and was, assuredly, the only reason Killian was still alive, but the man lacked the instinct to charge into battle and hope for the best. Which, in fact, was precisely what Killian had done. A tingle ran up his spine and it was all he could do to keep himself from shaking outwardly. It had been a lucky gamble. By rights he should have been in a shroud at the bottom of the sea, else maimed beyond all usefulness and wandering the streets like a ghost. But he hadn't, thank his lucky stars, and he chose to turn his mind away from the topic before thoughts of how close he'd been turned him to madness.

The admiral was laughing. "Ah, a fine sense of spirit there, Jones! A fine sense of spirit! And you'll need more where that came from. Between the two of you, your antics have been enough that the king asked for you by name. Accomplish what you must on land, but be ready to leave the day after next. We've already got the supplies waiting for you."

"Will that be all, Sir?" Liam asked.

"That'll be all."

The two junior officers snapped up to their feet and Liam proffered a salute saying, "Good afternoon, Sir." Then, with a crisp turn, they strode out the door.

From there, the two men went their separate ways. Liam disappeared to spend what little time he had with his family. Killian called on a young lady he'd been seeing only to discover that, after six months, she'd moved on. He still managed to steal a kiss though, before he left and went instead to carouse in the favored pub of naval officers until the wee hours of the morning.

It was bright and early when a knock came at Killian's apartment door. It took some work to read the missive with his bleary eyes not quite wanting to focus on the handwritten scrawl, but when the message finally worked its way into his pounding mind, he dismissed the courier, threw a freshly pressed uniform on, and trotted out as if the past night hadn't happened.

When he arrived on the ship, Liam greeted him and brought all the officers into his cabin to relay the briefing he'd been given, explain the map with their heading already marked on it, and show them a pair of chrystaline beans that would be instrumental in their quest.


	3. Landfall

Author's Note: Things are beginning to get... interesting. Again, reviews/comments/critiques/plot guesses/etc are all quite welcome! Thanks.

The trip through the portal had been... different. When he'd seen the whirlpool they'd had to sail into, Killian had cursed the foolishness of those who had sent him toward disaster and he wrapped his arm in the ropes. It was only a moment though, and then everything was normal. He looked around, suspecting that he'd imagined it all and they were still in the same place, but then he noticed that the sun off the starboard side, where it had been to port not a breath ago. He let a shaking breath out and moved forward to check on the rest of the crew. Within a few minutes they'd taken up their new bearing and were under full sail toward the abandoned island.

It was only a few days before they could see the island in sharp relief. It stood out bright and glimmering like a jem, but there was something about it that set their teeth on edge and made the helmsman grip the wheel with white knuckles. "So that's it?" Killian asked, handing his spyglass to Liam.

"Indeed."

"Hospitable."

They drifted into a harbor through heavy fog and the silence that settled on the ship was anything but natural. All the men who weren't busy at their labors stood at the rails, peering into the shadows of strange trees, stunned by the utter stillness of the forrest. "Lower a boat," Liam commanded, but his tone was barely above a whisper.

As the small craft began to settle on the surface of the water, Liam gestured to his brother. Killian paused, then drew near and whispered, "But Sir, shouldn't some of the men take the first trip?"

"It's uninhabited, remember? Now come," the Captain replied. Killian nodded and joined him in climbing down the side of the ship and, knowing his station, he instantly gripped the oars and began rowing to shore. Not a word was spoken as they rowed to shore, partially because their eyes were scouring the beach, partially because Killian did not want the men to hear what he had to say, and nothing carried a hushed voice so well as still water.

Out of the fog, perched on a rock, a shape gradually appeared. At first it may have been a stump or some gnarled brush, but then pale, blonde hair became visible along with a dirty face and a leer that showed perfect, white teeth. "Bloody hell?" he hissed. Just as the boat beached itself on the shore, he let go of the oars. A click and the sound of scraping leaked over the water as Killian cleared the first few inches of his sword from it's scabbard.

"Belay that," Liam said raising a hand, but Killian, beyond the sight of the crew and with the skin on his back prickling, was in no mood to follow orders. He hopped up from the boat and drew his sword fully, stalking toward the shape until the steel blade rustled against the fabric of the stranger's clothes.

"Who are you, Lad? Why are you here?" he demanded.

The boy laughed.

"Lieutenant, put that fool sword away. It's just a boy!" his brother called out from behind. The clamor of sliding rocks told him that the older officer was racing up to stand beside him. Then there was a hand on his shoulder, and against his better judgement, Killian complied.

"It's been a horribly long time since anyone's come here," the boy said then, crossing his arms. "The others will be so happy to see you!"

"There are more of you?" Liam asked.

"Oh, plenty. Me and my friends have been surviving out here for such a very long time."

"Heavens. Killian, send for another boat. Seems we've stumbled upon another rescue."

"Liam, I don't-"

"Lieutenant! This may be another world, but you are still my subordinate. Do you understand me?"

Icy eyes locked solely on the boy, Killian hesitated. Something wasn't right, and his brother wanted them to separate. Everything in him screamed against it, but the Naval officer in him warned him that he'd breached the chain of command enough for one day. Grudgingly, he turned around. "Yes, Sir," he bit out, then stalked back down the beach to yell for more of the crew to come ashore. Within twenty minutes, half the crew was ashore along with barrels and crates to resupply the ship.

"Now, Lad," Liam said, leaning down a little to look the boy in the eyes. Killian grimaced watching his brother act every bit the father to this child. He was proud to be an uncle, he was proud of his brother's deep fraternal instincts, but the sense of wrongness stung him. He stood tensely not a handbreadth away, hand gripping the hilt of his sword until it hurt. "We're happy to get you and your companions to safety, but I'm afraid we didn't stumble upon you by accident..."

"No?" the boy asked with sudden curiosity.

"You see, our queen's ill, near to dying, and she has a young one on the way. We've heard there's a plant that grows here; a glowing, golden flower, that possesses the power to heal all ills, even reverse the flow of time. Have you seen anything like it on this island?"

There was a flicker of keen intelligence in the boy's eyes, and he turned his head to study Killian. Then it was gone, replaced with the sort of warmth and enthusiasm one expected from a child of the boy's age. "Perhaps... there are lots of strange and magical things on this island. A glowing golden flower you say... yes! I think I've seen one. Boy, that would have been nice to know about a while back if it really is as special as you say! Come! The others will want to meet you!"

Liam laughed. "Ah! You men had better hurry, with the lad's help, we'll soon be weighing anchor. Now boy, what's your name?"

"Peter Pan, Sir."

"Peter Pan, very good. Call me Captain Jones, and this is my brother, Killian. Now let's see to those friends of yours and try to find our flower!"

The two of them set off into the forrest at a brisk pace. Killian stayed, frowning as he looked up and saw a bright, sunny sky. The fog was gone, replaced with summery warmth. Birds called in the trees and wind rocked the leaves gently. The beauty of the paradise they'd found assaulted him and he found himself at a loss to explain his earlier unease. Perhaps the fight before, against the pirates, had more of an effect on him than he'd thought. Could he have suddenly become one of those old warriors who jumped at shadows and drew their swords when woken by kin in the dead of night? Drew their swords when greeted by a young boy on a new beach? His stomach jerked tight as he suddenly could see the sword that had by chance alone, smacked his scalp with it's hilt rather than blade, sending him tumbling to the deck, crawling forward lest another blade be guided by surer aim.

He blinked hard and set his teeth. Either way, the fact remained that his brother was walking off with none but a boy to accompany him through unknown wilderness. He glanced over at the men who were beginning to pick up barrels and walk up the sides of a nearby creek. "Five of you! On me!" he bellowed. In an instant, a sergeant and four others gave their loads to someone else and ran toward him, but he was already racing along the trail the Captain had taken.

It was some hours of hiking through the mountainous wood before they came to a clearing with bundles of this and that leaned against trees, clothes strung between the great branches, and little forts perched in the leaves. At the center of it all was a fairly formidable fire ringed with boys, all scraggly and unkempt as Peter, and most armed with bows that looked too fine for such young hands to make.

"Oi, Lads! We've got guests!" Peter called and skipped down to meet them. Laughter and yells sounded out from every corner of the glade, while the sailors stood huddled in shock, wide eyes looking all about them and trying to make sense of it all.

"What in heaven's name-"Liam began.

"They're all boys," Killian finished. "Every last one of them."


	4. Doubt

Author's Note: Curiouser and curiouser... Again, reviews/comments/critiques/plot guesses/etc are all quite welcome! Thanks.

"Captain," the sergeant muttered. "Beggin' your pardon, but why does a ship carry so many boys... and how is it that only they survived?" The whole crew, officers and all, frowned as they tried to reason through this latest puzzle.

Liam was the first to act. Walking over, he put a hand on the blonde boy's shoulder. Something in the boy's posture changed suddenly then, and Killian reached for his sword again, but he stayed his hand with an effort. "Lad," Liam said softly. "I know this may be a hard question for you, but... aren't there others somewhere?"

"Others?" the boy asked, looking at the captain with wide, questioning eyes.

"Well, yes. Aren't there any adults around?"

Peter took his time in answering. "No, Captain. There's no adults here but you. There were a few a long while back, but they all died."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Peter." Liam squeezed the boy's shoulder paternally. The man had always had a heart to comfort the pain of others. "You did a very good job keeping the others alive this long."

Peter nodded. "It's all about being resourceful, but you can never forget to let yourself have some fun now and then. Watch this!" With that, he dashed off, up the limbs of one tree and disappearing into the foliage. The crew stood there, staring up at the leaves, utterly perplexed by the boy's behavior. Suddenly, he dropped to the ground not two feet away from them, pan flute in hand. Without a moment's hesitation, he began playing a vibrant tune.

Despite himself, Killian found a grin crawling onto his face and his foot tapping to the jig's rhythm as if it had a will of it's own. Liam was nodded along and behind Peter, several of the other boys had begun to dance merrily.

"Captain, Sir, beggin' your pardon, but what are you doing?" came the sergeant's voice through it all.

"The other tune, Peter! The other tune!" one of the younger boys called out from where he danced scant inches from the flames.

"Not now!" Peter hissed between breaths. Then his merry face was back and he played even more enthusiastically, weaving the swift, merry notes together with such skill that Killian was nearly breathless just watching, and his mind was happily drifting away on the clouds of fanciful notes.

"Sir! What in the nine hells are you doin'?!" the sergeant shouted now, taking the liberty of grabbing hold of Liam's jacket and tugging it hard.

"Get your hand off me, Sergeant!" snarled the Captain. "The better question is, when did it become acceptable for a sergeant to lay hands on his better?!"

"But Sir, there ain't no music!"

"Sergeant, you've been near too many cannons. It's plain as day and the lad's doing a decent job of it."

The sergeant looked over his shoulder at the four other men who all shook their heads, utter bewilderment carved into their faces. "Sir, none of us hears it."

Liam growled and glanced to Killian. "You hear it, Killian, don't you?"

Killian glanced at his brother disbelievingly. "Aye, and it's bloody good too. Say, lad, can you teach me to play like that? I'd wager there's many a lass who would fancy such a thing!"

"Bah, you've all gone daft. Just mind yourself to keep your hands off me, sergeant, and sit in your own bleak little world if you must."

When the song finally ended, Killian was strangely tired. He couldn't seem to figure out how long it had been since Peter started playing, or since they'd left the ship for that matter. "Sir, I'd suggest we start heading back-" he began, but was quickly cut off.

"Nonsense!" Peter barked with a grin. "You haven't even begun the quest you came here for, and tonight you all are my guests. We're not so far removed from society that we don't give guests a proper dinner. Christopher! Tom! Start cooking!"

At once the boys scurried off in a hundred directions, but it didn't take long for them to return, and they were all carrying something. Some carried bowls of fruit or tubers or greens. Others had plates with breads and cheeses that they'd gotten...somewhere. Lastly, the two boys who were probably Christopher and Tom came in with a pig on a spit. In short order, they'd seasoned the animal and started it roasting over the fire, other dishes huddled around the edges as needed to warm them up.

It didn't seem to take nearly as long as it should have for the pig to be finished, but when it was, the whole crew felt their mouths watering. Over six months on board a ship with only a few days reprieved had them in such a state that anything that wasn't stale or coated in salt was considered a delicacy, and this wonder of a freshly cooked pig was almost more than any man among them could take. Within moments the feast was divided among the men and boys and each began to gorge. They even had spirits of some unknown vintage and Killian's cup was filled long before he ever had a chance to drain it, so that ere long, he felt his body sway this way and that without any guidance from him and he couldn't quite seem to get a foot beneath him. Falling back from where he'd been sitting, he leaned against a hand and tried to hold his head up straight. He could see Peter a little ways from him, eyeing him, and then a slow, haunting tune swirled from the flute, and Killian's world went black.

Cannons rang out. Gold teeth glinted in the flash. The deck shook beneath his feet, causing him to stumble and he crawled forward until he regained his feet, knowing only that he had to press forward. There were swords and pistols all about him; too many to follow. He blocked what he could, but then he'd hear a whistling slash or the low bark of a musket and feel searing pain. It was here, then there, then he couldn't quite remember what all hurt, but it did, and he clutched himself as he moved forward. Then the pommel of a sword came down on his head and his vision slurred. Gasping quick breaths, he forced himself up and threw off the latest attacker. He watched as the man fell back and tried to steady himself, take a step forward. The pain and fear tore him in opposite directions. One goading him forward, the other pleading for him to just drop to the deck and let fate take him. Giving up wasn't in him though, he surged forward and drew his sword, slashing down at his foe.

At once, his arms were caught. He struggled against them, bit, clawed, kicked, but to no avail. Suddenly something struck him hard on the head and he felt himself being thrown onto his back. When his eyes opened, two of his crew were holding him down in the early morning light. Both of them were bleeding from scratches and... bite marks. Just past their shoulders, he could see Liam talking to a man who looked pale and wild-eyed.

Killian was shaking, sweating. He tried to struggle his arms loose, tried to check his wounds, but they held him tight. The knocking in his head was growing worse. It felt like someone had stabbed him through the skull and was slowly twisting the blade. Then he realized how truly sick he felt and he barely managed to turn his head to the side before a fine pork dinner spewed on the ground.

"Is...is everyone alright?" Killian finally managed through a throat that felt as though it must have been bleeding.

"I've got him," came Liam's stern voice. Slowly, the two men loosed their hold.

Killian curled in on himself, his hands running up and down his body, trying in vain to find the wounds that should have been there. He was every bit as whole as he'd been the night before, and that alone astounded him. A hand came into his vision, and he grasped it, gasping as Liam hauled him to his feet, and teetered precariously once he got there. The drumming in his head quickened and he felt his stomach heave again.

"What the bloody hell do those boys drink?!" he gasped.

"Come with me." Liam dragged him off a ways into the trees, partly from frustration, partly due to the fact that Killian couldn't seem to get his feet under himself properly even now. And when they reached the place Liam seemed to like, Killian was dropped unceremoniously. "What happened back there?"

Killian groaned and rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know. I'm sorry, I guess the drink-"

"It wasn't the drink."

Killian paused and looked up into his brother's eyes, feeling very much like a young child again. "Then what-"

"It's that last fight we had, isn't it? You haven't been quite right since then. We didn't give you enough time to get your bearings again before bringing you out here."

"Now, that's not right! Sure, I've been a little more cautious, but you'd do the same if you stubbed your toe for pity's sake! It doesn't mean I've gone mad-"

"You took a knock to the head, Killian. Don't think I don't know. That and the straight you were in... no one would blame you for coming out of that worse for wear."

"But-"

"-For Pete's sake, Killian, you nearly killed one of our own men! Hurt a few others besides! Now, can you seriously sit there and swear on your honor that you weren't dreaming about it?"

He swallowed hard, the starch, the spirit draining from him in an instant. "No."

Sympathy flooded Liam's expression, and he sat down beside him, a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me about it?"

"No!" Killian stared at the forest, suddenly realizing that he was gasping again, shaking, hands digging into the earth at his sides. He pulled his hands out of the dirt and brushed them off. "No. It's... I've never had a dream like that before... the wounds! I can still feel them. Here... and here..." He traced lines across his chest. He glanced at Liam whose face had drawn tight at the admission. "Liam, I've never had these before. I've only thought about the fight a few times, and then only for a moment and it passed, but this... this was... it's something about this place. Ever since we got here, it's like I'm twitching at my own shadow. Something isn't right."

Liam pulled him into a brotherly embrace. "I'm so sorry, Killian. I never should have let you come. I'd suspected this but-"

"No, Liam! I'm telling you, it's not that, and it's not me! It's this place. There's something going on here... Liam, I've always been honest with you, always been reliable, trustworthy, honorable... why would I lie now?"

"Because you're proud, Killian. You always were one to laugh off a hurt. The fact that you're not laughing now just shows how deep it goes. And besides, I'm no fool."

"Liam!" the younger man grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook hard, then stopped, knowing he wasn't helping his cause. "Is there anything I can say to convince you I'm telling the truth?" he asked, folding his hands in his lap.

"I'm afraid not."

"What are you going to do with me?"

Silence stretched on before Liam finally answered. "Keep you close, I suppose, and put you on light duty the moment we get home."

Killian gave a heavy sigh, his shoulders rolling in on themselves, his head lulling low. "Very well," he said eventually. "Let's just get the flower and you get me off this bloody island."


	5. The Game

Author's Note: Gah, don't think I'm going to beat the episode, but hey, I made a good showing. Anyway, I apologize for the use of a bit of language in this one. Killian isn't happy. Please let me know what you think!

As the sun continued to rise, they gathered their things and Peter Pan began leading them toward the flower's location. The boy had informed them that it would be a long walk through rugged landscape and cautioned them all to stay close lest the various dangers native to the island seek them out.

It was very tempting for Killian to skulk along behind the crew, head lowered, feet dragging, thoroughly ashamed of his actions that morning. However, Killian refused. As they trailed through the wood, Killian took point just behind the leader of the boys and moved with every bit of the agility his own comparative youth allowed him, using branches to help him climb up the steeper slopes and swinging around tree trunks when he found himself perched on a ledge. It was no merry outing for him, however. His teeth were grimly set and his eyes stalked Peter every step of the way, unease growing in him with every league they put behind them. He only let the lead boy out of his view when he glanced back to ensure that the other seamen were still in pursuit, Liam first among them.

It was impossible to tell in this dense jungle where there was no sky, no sun, but Killian got the feeling they were being led about in circles, and whenever he'd find himself becoming certain, sweet pipe notes would drift out on the air. He'd feel himself swept off in some distant memory and he'd cling to it as long as he was able before he'd stumble on a rock and set his mind to walking the trail again.

Through it all, Killian's eyes continued to narrow at Peter even as the place between his shoulder blades tingled. He sped up so that he was walking closer behind the boy, failing to mind the fact that Liam and the others were dropping behind. Then there was the glint of a mischievous eye as Pan looked back, then sprinted off. Without a thought, Killian charged around a bend. Then he stopped, having come face-to-face with the child. Alarm shook him, but he cast it aside and slapped a hand on Peter's shoulder, his steely fingers digging in until he was certain the boy could not slip his grasp. "Where are you taking us, Lad? This is no straight trail."

Pan turned around with a toothy grin. "Perceptive bugger, aren't you?"

It was all Killian could do to keep from striking the child. "Watch your language, boy, and it's Lieutenant to you!"

Pan just clicked his tongue and drew out a stone dagger that was slathered in something black and dripping. "Unhand me," he whispered, "or your brother will have the joy of watching you die quite horribly."

Eyes wider than he would have liked, the officer roughly unclenched his hand and moved it close as he dared to his sword's hilt, the dagger inched closer though, so Killian froze, tepid blue eyes flaying the child where he stood.

"Some sense of self-preservation then, that's a relief," the boy grinned, then, tapping the slick dagger against his chin, he began to muse to himself. "So how shall we play this game, hmm?"

"What game?" Killian's tone was flat and harsh to match his expression. The eerie sense he'd carried ever since setting foot on this island was nearly roaring in his hears.

"What game? Killian, I know you're a grown-up and all, but surely you must remember that all boys play games, and I love them more than anyone! You want to get this special flower to a mother... I don't like mothers. I'd much prefer she died. Still, we've been alone here for such an awfully long time. When will be my next chance to play with visitors?" The child began to circle him with an appraising look, and the hair on the back of the officer's neck electrified as he realized the boy's feet were no longer touching the ground. "You're quite bound to your duty, aren't you? Duty and honor. Must have been an urchin, right? Just want that little bit of dignity? Willing to risk life and limb to elevate yourself above the gutter? How quaint."

Killian spared a glance behind him, wondering what was taking the rest of the men so long to catch him up. Nothing about this encounter was at all natural. He threw himself toward the boy then, hoping to catch him off guard, but the black knife flashed and Killian saw a brass button fly through the air and bounce off the rocky face of the hill. He froze. Nothing else on his uniform was damaged, he was just missing the top button. A hissing breath escaped through his teeth, and he glared up at the boy who was continuing to study him as if nothing had happened.

"You also hear my music keenly. Both you and your brother must have been abandoned for the two of you to hear it, but why do you hear it so much plainer than he does? Could it be that he's somehow less abandoned than you? Did your parents like him more before they threw you on the streets or... no. He's found some sort of family hasn't he? A wife, some kids that he's so bent on growing up the right way? You're probably so proud to be an uncle; proud and protective... and jealous, huh?"

"Not another word!" Killain roared, it was all he could do to still his feet and prevent himself from leaping after the child yet again, but Pan was unimpressed.

"Ever mention that to your dear confidant of a brother? For you it's just a wife in every port, or... you're honorable, I forgot. No, it's only one lady for you, isn't it? Ah, it is. But she doesn't fancy you any longer. Your duty's dragged you away for too long too often and she's done with you. My, my, but your worlds seem to loathe each other.'

'Oh, and then there's your ship. Your crew. Your family as it were, seeing as your incapable of having any real relations, and you're honorable towards them as well." He gave a low, mocking whistle. "That was a real feat of derring-do, wasn't it? Risking life and limb to bring one of your own back to the fold? You took some hurt during that action too, didn't you? Upset you a bit? Made you feel a little unsure of yourself, has it? Keep you awake at night or... no. Forgot again! It makes you a raving lunatic keen on killing your own. How silly of me!"

"That's your own black magic, and nothing of me! I never thought about it before arriving here!"

"Liar." Peter Pan had stopped now to study the officer with his head tilted and his glittering eyes peering right through the man. "You've thought of it before. You're afraid of the memories. You run from them in your own mind. And I shouldn't wonder. Fear is a powerful thing. You fear that next time you'll dishonor yourself, proving to be a coward, and! ...and you'll abandon what little family you have left." Now the mischievous twinkle heightened to an unnatural point. "There's our game! It's appeared at last! What happens when dear Lieutenant Jones is forced to make a choice, huh? A choice between family or honor?'

'I'll tell you what, you can save your 'family's' lives and leave these shores, honor irreparably damaged, OR you can have the flower, but it'll cost you every man who's come on this hunt with you, your dear brother included."

Horror welled up inside Killian at the ultimatum, disgust, disbelieve that he was even hearing those words, and spoken to him through the mouth of a child! Perhaps he had descended into madness? "And just what makes you think I'll play your vile game?" he demanded.

Pan rolled his eyes. "It's a choice. You either go one way or the other. I suppose you could go hide in a hole in the ground... you are concerned that you'll prove yourself a coward after all, but somehow I doubt it. And I suppose you could try to find some way to cheat, but I'll warn you, you won't like the consequences, and I'll always find out.'

'So, here's the rules. I'll give you a few opportunities to decide which way you want to go, just in case you make a hasty decision early on and end up regretting it, I do like to be sporting after all, but the closer you get to one, the heavier the consequences will be for the other. Oh, and no telling anyone either. I'll find out, and they'll die quite tragically, I assure you. Any questions?"

The Lieutenant's eyes were narrow and burning, his jaw clinched so that he could nearly feel his teeth shatter.

"Good! One, two, three, start!" He snapped his fingers and something seemed to shift. Innocence cloaked his face as he skipped on ahead. Behind him, Killian could hear Liam sighing, "Are you going to just stand there all day? Keep moving." So he did.


	6. Murder

Author's Note: In which things go from bad to worse. Sadly, I think that's going to be a trend in this story. Then again, I don't suppose those of you who are reading are reading this in hopes of light, merry fluff starring Hook. I'll go ahead and apologize for my occasional use of British vulgarities (hopefully I'm using them correctly), but let's face it, this is Hook we're talking about, and as much as I try to avoid language, it just ain't going to happen. I appreciate hearing the good, the bad and the ugly, so please review.

Now when Killian followed Peter, he walked with a purpose. His strides were long and quick and he kept glancing back to see how close Liam and the others were, but he couldn't quite manage to create distance. Some hours in, he finally gave up, fuming.

The day passed on with few breaks for water and by the time the sun neared the horizon, all the men were bent and weary, sweat dripping from their eyes like tears. A fire was kindled, and once again all ate and drank, but not Killian. Liam had sat next to him, eyes round and sad as he tried to coax his little brother to tell the raw story of that one fierce fight, tried to get him to reveal the hurt and fear that the lieutenant no doubt felt. It was all Killian could do to find a more loving and fraternal version of, "Sod off," for a reply. As a peace offering, he finally allowed Liam to 'make' him a piece of bread, a little meat, and a few of the island's vibrant fruits, but took no persuading to refuse the strong drink, choosing water instead. He saw his brother's cautious nod of approval at that, and fought his rising ire.

In fact, it was probably fortunate that all assumed his dour mood was continued remorse for his actions that morning. True, when his mind did flicker to those first waking moments, he'd wince and try to brush the memory away, fully ashamed of his actions, but then his anger would stoke hotter and his bright blue eyes would settle on the leader of these marooned boys.

As the evening trailed on and many boys and men stumbled off to their blankets, Liam among them, Killian remained alert. Peter had his back turned on him, not too far away. The few others who remained were situated so they could see little, if anything. His hand slipped to the dagger he kept in his belt. He hesitated briefly, considering the fact that Pan was no more than a boy, and one who, despite his ruthless threats, had hardly struck the first blow, but then he remembered the boy's feet dangling above the ground as they'd talked and the ice-cold threat against Liam, and Killian found his feet, dagger firmly in hand.

He stepped forward silently once, then the other foot moved forward.

"You're too loud by half, Killian," the boy said without turning his head. "You're nothing more than a great old oaf in these forests to those who've learned to hunt in them."

Killian froze, waiting for more, but none came. Peter just returned to his previous conversation without sparing him so much as a glance. The insolence burned his pride, but he sheathed the dagger and sat back down, trying furiously to figure out some other way of ensuring his crew's and his brother's safety. Sound, sight, and prying eyes were all issues he had to contend with. His eyes slithered to where one of the boys had their bow and quiver propped against a stump. Perhaps with that, he could defeat all those issues. He spent perhaps the next thirty minutes or so gradually scooting, stretching and shifting toward the bow, covering the distance mere centimeters at a time to avoid detection, and it worked. Ere long, he was leaning against the stump, the bow tapping against his elbow. From there, he just sat and watched.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. It took a great effort to keep his eyes open as the night droned on. All the men were weary and he'd had the worst of it, not having slept well the night before and having had his nerves constantly on edge throughout the day. With steely stoicism; however, and more than a handful of soldiers' tricks, he clung to wakefulness. Finally, he was rewarded.

Pan stood and clapped his second on the shoulder before walking off into the woods, perhaps to check on sentries. The Lieutenant waited a breath, two, then stood up wordlessly and followed, bow and quiver squirreled away with talent he hadn't even known he'd had until he was sheltered in the brush. Then he slid the quiver over his shoulder and held the bow in-hand. He hadn't shot a bow much in his life, but he was a fair shot with a pistol and he prayed a true aim and vague memory would be all he needed.

As he moved from the fire, he slowed and strained his eyes to make out shapes in the filtered moonlight. Motion was what ultimately betrayed Pan. A shift in the trees, a little more substantial than a costal breeze, and Killian knocked an arrow. There was more draw on the bow than he'd expected of children. Again, he checked himself. What was he doing? Stalking through the woods, hunting a boy. It grated at his sense of honor, made his stomach twist in angry knots, but he stamped his qualms down until they disappeared.

Now, through the trees, he could see Pan fully. The faint light was enough to show his yellow hair, the sword at his hip, and his particular swaggering gait. Killian drew, took aim, let out half a breath, and loosed. The shot flew straight, but Pan spun suddenly and waived a hand and the arrow dove sharply to the left.

A cry split the night air.

Killian swallowed hard, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders, but a moment later he was off, racing through the forest toward the sound as if nothing mattered. Skittering to a stop in the loose leaves, he knelt down and placed a hand on the shoulder of one of his men. One who now sported a feathered shaft in his leg. Cursing, Killian eyed the man apologetically. "Hold still," he said, and tugged the arrow loose.

He could barely see in that dim light, but he still easily identified the dark liquid that began to boil out. In an instant, his coat was off and his sleeve was torn off. Bunching the fabric into the wound, he held it down with all his strength. He mercilessly threw his knee into the wound then, he tore his other sleeve and, twisting it, tied the bandage on as tight as he could. When he was done, he rocked back on his heels, staring at the man with a face that sought to explain what words could not. Slowly, he reached over, and started to pull his coat over the man's shaking form.

It hadn't settled yet when shouts came up and arms tugged Killian back and away. "What have you done this time, Killian!?" Liam's voice thundered as he came to stand between the lieutenant and the seaman.

"The blackguard-" Killian's voice broke as he noticed Peter standing behind his brother, right hand suspiciously blocked from view and that jagged grin spread wide across his face. "He... I... it was an accident," he finally lied and hated himself for it.

"It happened again, didn't it?" Liam asked with grave concern.

"Did what happen?"

"You had another dream. Killian, I'm sorry, but you're a danger to yourself and others right now."

"Wha-"

"Disarm him, bind his hands, and take turns watching him through the night," Liam ordered the seamen in a defeated tone. "And for pity's sake, if he's having nightmares, wake him." Then he leaned down, unshed tears glistening in his eyes and put a heavy hand on Killian's shoulder. "This is just for the night. In the morning, we'll talk. We'll get through this together."

"Liam, you can't leave me like this. Unarmed? Bound?" His eyes shifted to were Peter stood, hands on hips, watching the whole scene. "We don't know what sort of foul creatures may wander in these woods. Don't leave me defenseless."

"That's what the guard's for, right Cooper?" he asked, looking to the seaman who seemed to have won first watch.

"Aye, Sir. No harm'll come to you, I swear it."

Killian was under the impression that Pan was a match for Cooper and then some, having seen the inexplicable things he'd just witnessed, but there was no hope for it and every moment spent resisting just cut his brother deeper. "Thank you," he allowed at last.

Cooper did as he'd been ordered and the lieutenant didn't resist, but in the end Liam needed his help to move their wounded man toward the fire, and in their brief absence, Pan drew near. Steely glint in his eyes, he nevertheless mimicked Liam's actions, bending down, looking him in the eye, placing a hand on his shoulder with more than a little force. "Don't ever test my rules or my resolve again," the boy cooed. Then he stood up and walked into the night.


	7. Promises

Author's Note: Struggling a little bit with my muse here. I know where this story will reach its peak, and I know where it will end, but the next chapter promises to be quite difficult and fight me every step of the way. Suggestions on where to go from here would be great. I think this chapter is the closest to genuine fluff in the whole story, but I think it's important fluff. I appreciate hearing the good, the bad and the ugly, so please review.

That night he slept fitfully, if at all. Sometimes he'd smell the sulfur of cannons and feel the sway of the deck beneath his feet. His ears rang and he could feel the icy pain of his wounds with perfect clarity. Other times he was on the island, the magic flower wilting beneath his hand, his comrades falling, slain, and Pan's wild laugh filling the air. Despite the flurry of dreams, it seemed like he only slept for a breath or two each time before Cooper shook him awake, wild eyes glinting in the moonlight, telling Killian that he must have been struggling or crying out. The lieutenant would steady his breath with an effort and reassure Cooper that all was well, and as the man shifted back to his post. Then Killian would hear the faint notes of a pan flute somewhere in the distance and ask, "Doesn't that devil ever sleep?" as he faded back into a restless sleep.

Dawn was seeping into the world when Killian next woke. He blinked and tried to bring bleary eyes to focus, finally identifying Liam kneeling in front of him. "Good morning, brother," the older man said, then frowned. "You look like perdition."

"Feel like it too," Killian ground out.

Liam leaned forward and untied his bonds, frown deepening. They'd tied him gently enough, being friends and comrades, but his wrists were heavily chafed. "More dreams?"

"How's our man fairing?"

He gave a sigh. "Not as well as we'd hoped. You did a jolly good job of patching him up, but his wound's festering."

"Bloody island." It hadn't taken long for sailors in their many travels to recognize that wounds in warm, muggy climes spelt painful, gangrenous death. Knowing that information did nothing to lighten the blow; however, when a comrade fell ill. Doubt filled him and he found himself muttering, "Perhaps we should head back to the ship... get him to the surgeon..."

"He'll be right as rain once we get that flower. Now come on, let's get you cleaned up and fed so we can find this cure."

Killian climbed to his feet stiffly and followed his brother. While he ate a cold, thin breakfast, he scoured his mind for any ideas. The simple truth was that he had no idea of how to navigate this. Give him stormy seas, give him war, just don't give him a villainous adolescent with unnatural power. He snorted even as those words formed in his mind. Telling others about the 'game' was not an option, and Pan had made it abundantly clear that there was no way for Killian to simply eliminate the boy from the equation. He would have to play by Pan's rules: either his honor, or his crew, and already both had suffered. Supposing that he could choose one over the other, how could he convince his brother to disobey a direct order with their country and their oaths both on the line? Especially now, that his sanity was so plainly in question? But perhaps that was just the thing. Perhaps even Pan couldn't think of a way of removing the sailors barring wholesale slaughter, and so he left it up to Killian to devise a way.

Brother, let the queen and the infant die, this island holds a darkness and we must leave. Brother, I think we should really stop this mission and go home now, tails tucked, for reasons I can't explain. It was never going to work. If anything, Liam was more stubborn about honor and duty than he was. It would take far more evidence than Killian could provide to dissuade his brother, and did he even want to? What about the sailor he'd shot? What were his chances if they turned around now and brought him back to the boat? Perhaps the surgeon would enable him to fight off death. But as Liam had noted, this flower could guarantee the man's good health. Wasn't that alone worth struggling for?

But at what cost?

His head was beginning to ache and he jabbed his fingers into his temples, trying to burry the pain.

"Killian, speak to me. Tell me what thoughts are on your mind. You shouldn't have to go through this alone," Liam pleaded beside him, every inch of him bursting with concern.

A frustrated growl escaped the younger man before he could stop it, but he regained his bearing quickly. "It's nothing, brother. I'm just trying to plot the course ahead."

"Don't keep me out, Killian. I'm here for you. It's my job to take care of you-"

"I'm bloody well trying to take care of you for once!" Killian roared, then clacked his teeth together. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just... so tired."

"I know."

'No you bloody don't!' he thought, but this time he managed to lock the words inside. There was no sense in torturing his brother so. Not when there was nothing Liam could do to help his predicament without knowing, and no way of informing him without Peter's wrath landing heavily on them. "Please, can we just go back? Forget this bloody island ever existed?"

Liam smiled and rested a big hand on his shoulder. "You know we can't. King and country, Killian, king and country. But once we've reached that flower we'll see to our man, and once we get home we'll both take some leave. I'll get Marry and Liza, and we'll go north for a season, to the cottage on the cliffs. We'll hunt, fish, and go to country dances where the eligible ladies are starved for the sight of a roguishly handsome officer such as yourself. We'll drink the finest ales and play whist every night!"

"You mean that?"

"On my honor... so long as you stop cheating at whist."

"I never cheat at wist!"

"Oh yes you do!"

"No, you just can't take a trick to save your life!"

"That settles it then, we'll have to let Marry be our mediator and discover who is the better player once and for all."

"Or we could just play on the same bloody team..."

"That too."

Their conversation dissolved into low, feeble chuckles, but even that struck Killian. Somehow his older brother had managed to interrupt his morbid thoughts and magic that faint grin on his face. There weren't many ways in which Killian considered himself particularly fortunate, but the luck of having such a dear brother was one. They nodded in mutual understanding, then Liam stood, calling for the remaining men to build a stretcher for their wounded member.

Killian glared furiously at the ground in front of him. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to save all of them, but the means continued to escape him. And as the men readied themselves and started down the trail, Killian stood and followed, determined that if he could not stop his brother from completing their mission, he'd attempt to help him complete it as quickly as possible. Perhaps there was some chance that speed would put Pan at a disadvantage.


	8. Power Play

Author's Note: Not to say I've made the unfortunate habit of writing stories during class or anything... but I knocked out about a chapter and a half, so you shouldn't have too long of a wait for what comes next. We're getting close to the end now, but there's still a good bit of wild ride left, so hang on and enjoy. I appreciate hearing the good, the bad and the ugly, so please review.

As the sun climbed the very air seemed to turn to steam. Sweat dripped off his nose, as the lieutenant strode toward the front of the line. He was trying to move casually, but having started at the rear of the group, he felt a pressing need to take point. He wasn't oblivious to the looks he received along the way either. The boys shot him looks of mischievous glee whenever they were sure no one else was watching. Apparently Peter had informed them of the game he played. When his own men looked at him, some showed faint concern, but distrust predominated, and that wound nearly felled him. He'd have given nearly anything to protect them, and he'd proven it time and again, not so long ago. Now, with the apparent harm he'd caused and his seeming madness, it was all forgotten. He steeled his face and continued on, turning his mind fully to the mission at hand.

When he finally drew even with Pan, he leaned in and whispered, "I'm playing starting bloody now, mate."

Pan whipped his head around, amusement sparkling in expression as he narrowed his eyes and studied the lieutenant. "Finally. So what's your first move?"

Killian let a broad grin freeze onto his face, then he spun around and called out to the men, "Peter says there are vicious predators in the stretch ahead, entirely unafraid of men. Be prepared for them." So saying, he drew his saber and continued forward.

"Your mind's working rather furiously, isn't it?" Pan asked, trotting now to keep up. "Clever that, making your men arm themselves, but what's your next move? My boys are armed and ready too. Surely you don't mean a fight..."

"You'll know when I make it," he growled back.

In fact, it was already in progress. He walked as quickly as he could, forcing the men and boys around him to stretch their legs or get left behind. He was tired from lack of sleep and the heat was oppressive, and as he went on, the two drained his world of color and caused it to flash bright, but he grit his teeth and ignored it. He knew he wasn't the only one the grueling pace was wearing on. Pan trotted along beside, demanding in hushed tones that he slow. Liam was calling from behind, telling him that others were lagging. He didn't dare think of the men carrying the litter toward the rear. At times he thought he could hear the wounded man yowling from the jostling, but Killian refused to listen.

As he continued his merciless march, he shot a dark look Pan's way. "Where do we go from here?" he asked, without so much as a pause.

"Slow down and I'll tell you," the boy snarled.

"No, tell me now, or else I'm walking straight ahead until I hit the beach."

"Left."

"Good. And now?"

"Straight ahead."

"And now?"

"Left."

"For pity's sake, stop!" Liam roared from a few paces behind.

Killian stopped easily and turned around, his expression utterly guileless, and Peter slid to a standstill beside him, plainly annoyed.

"Where are you taking us lad? If I saw our wake I'd swear our guide was drunk," Liam continued. To Killian's eyes, his brother's frayed patience was painfully obvious, and it took a great deal of effort for the younger man to keep his satisfaction carefully hidden.

"I'm taking you to the flower, of course, as you wanted," Peter responded.

"It looks like you're wandering around aimlessly to me. Lad, we've got a sick man with us. We can't waste time."

"I'm just avoiding some of the hazards the island presents."

"I saw no hazards along the way."

"Well, you haven't been living here nearly as long as the boys and I have. The very plants have a mind to kill you, and it's only through hard experience that I've learned to avoid them."

"Liam," the lieutenant interjected. "You're putting too much pressure on the boy. It's a man's task we're asking him to do. We can't make him responsible for the death of our sick comrade if he's unsure of the way. Perhaps it's time to return to our own devices and search this island as we would have without the boy's aid. Either way, it doesn't seem like our man is in luck."

"Perhaps," Liam allowed.

"No!" Peter snapped, seething at the lieutenant. Then he paused to recover himself. "I know the way, I swear it."

"Lad, we don't think less of you for being unsure," Killian said, and flopped a big hand onto the boy's shoulder in a decidedly patronizing gesture.

"There's no shame, Lad, and you needn't worry, your passage off this island is still assured, but this mission must be accomplished. Killian, what sort of search pattern would you recommend?"

"No, I know the way. I've seen the flower. I remember!"

"Then where is it, boy?" the younger man asked, careful to phrase the question innocently.

"It's on a cliff, that way." He pointed.

Killian just shook his head with vague amusement, eliciting a loud huff from Pan.

"See that rise?" he asked, gesturing to a hill that was just visible through a break in the foliage.

"Aye."

"Just north of it, there's a cliff. The flower grows on the top."

The officers shared a look, then Liam asked cautiously, "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"You swear we'll find it if we follow those directions?" Killian asked.

"I swear it."

"Killian, peace. The boy's given his word, no need to continue to press him."

"Sorry Captain," Killian replied, managing to look sincere. "I just want to ensure that the boy knows what's at stake. We're trusting him with our mission and with the life of our man. If he can't lead us straight to the flower without error, we'd do better to find our own way. Nevertheless, his assurances seem genuine enough. I'm willing to continue on his advise, toward that ridge and to the north to find this cliff."

"Very well, but Killian, slow the pace."

"Aye, Sir," the lieutenant snapped a salute with a grin, then began walking. His brother stood back, frowning and shaking his head at both of the figures that returned to their task of leading the group.

"Well played," Peter said, when he and Killian had regained some distance from the rest of the group. "But you've taken a wide step toward accomplishing this mission, I'll be sad to see your family pay the price."

"You so much as touch them, and I'll kill you," came the hissed reply.

"That worked out so well for you last time. Is it just me, or are his screams getting louder?"

Pan fluttered a hand to his ear and made a show of listening, and Killian's blood ran cold. Behind them, came blood-curdling howls, that Killian could only assume came from the man on the litter, though they sounded anything but human.


	9. Life and Death

Author's Note: Onward and upward, and the stakes continue to rise. Do you think Killian's handling this well? Have any bets on what happens from here on out? Stay tuned to find out! I appreciate hearing the good, the bad and the ugly, so please review.

Killian spun around, a sick feeling stealing over him, and before he knew it, he'd weaved back through the trees until he drew even with the stretcher. It had been placed on the ground, the bearers having moved to comfort their comrade, dripping water from a canteen to the man' s lips. The man himself was white, his eyes wide and rolling, and his body strained against itself in violent twists and jerks.

"Hold him down!" the lieutenant bellowed. Yanking off his coat, he knelt down beside the man and tore the bandages off until he could see the wound on the man's leg, and the sight rocked him back on his heels. There was no stench as there should have been for a festering wound. It wasn't yellow. There was no puss or other foul fluids boiling to the surface. Rather, there was a web of inky black spreading out from the wound, crawling upward and, upon further investigation, toward the man's heart. Now Killian wore a pallor that nearly matched. "Poison," he breathed.

The others had gathered around by now and Killian rose shakily to his feet. Without so much as a word, he turned and reached into one of the boys' quivers, drawing out an arrow and looking at the tip. "You bloody demons poisoned him!" His hand wrapped into the boy's collar and the arrow in his hand shook, but then there were hands on his shoulders and his sense returned and he dropped the arrow to the ground.

"Killian," came the captain's cautious voice. "It's not their fault..." He graciously kept the rest from his words, but still the thought hung plainly in the air between them: Killian had fired the arrow. The man was still screaming behind him.

"But why the bloody hell do they poison their arrows?! For hunting? And spoil the meat?"

"Killian..." Liam's voice was low and soft.

The younger officer turned his gaze to Pan and tried to communicate his vow of retribution without a word. Then he allowed his shoulders to sag and he turned to his brother and his men, discovering their tense postures and weapons quietly slipping to less threatening positions. "Is there a cure?" he asked.

"Only one," Pan said quietly. "And we're already heading toward it."

Killian stooped over and pulled his jacket back on. The other sailors were already seeing to their comrade, rebinding his wounds and attempting to make him as comfortable as possible. Killian's eyes set on them for a time, before he turned to regard his brother. "Pan, how much further to the flower?" he asked.

"Three... four leagues...," the boy replied.

"Sir, I respectfully suggest that we press. At the rate the poison's effecting him, I fear he won't last three leagues at the usual pace."

"Lead on," Liam said with a nod.

"Gentlemen, ensure you keep an eye on each other and trade out when the load grows too heavy for your fellows." To a chorus of, "Aye, Sir," Killian started off at an even brisker walk.

Hours ticked by in mutual agony. The wounded man continued to wail and scream with astounding endurance, making the forest echo with his cries, before finally, some hours in, fading to low moans and whimpers. Those around him streamed sweat, lungs and limbs burning with the effort, ankles twisting on the uneven footing. When the first individual collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, the captain finally called a halt, allowing the men and boys to regain their wind and guzzle water. A moment later the officers were ripping canteens from the men's hands, ordering them to slow down, lest they make themselves sick. Slowly, the little company recovered, and as soon as the leaders could justify it, they were on the march again.

The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the world in warm, gold tones when they finally came to the bottom of the cliff. The wounded seaman had subsided into silence and unconsciousness by that time, quickening the men's motions and lighting their eyes with fear. "He's still..." Killian asked hesitantly.

"He's breathing, for now," one of his men responded from where he knelt over the stretcher.

"Then we'd better hurry. You two, stay with him. Sir, may I pursue the climb in your stead?" Liam had always been shy of heights, and even in the heat of the moment, he spared a thought to protecting his brother's image.

Liam considered the situation for a moment, fingers tapping the hilt of his sword as he eyed the face of the cliff. "The flower's just at the top?" he asked.

"Right there," Pan confirmed with a nod.

"Then, Lieutenant, take your men up and come directly down. I'll stay here with the others."

"Aye, Sir. Pan, I'll need you with me to identify it." He wasn't going to give the boy a choice. He wasn't about to leave the devil alone with Liam.

Pan grinned, knowingly. "Yes, Sir."

"If you'll lead the way..."

Killian followed closely behind Peter, and his men followed as near as they dared. Part of him had wanted to leave the other two men behind, but he'd quickly come to realize that Pan, whatever his true motivations, was so set on playing the game according to his own rules that he wouldn't lash out obviously with others there. Keeping others nearby was the surest way of keeping Pan in line, and so Killian brought them along as a shield. Still, digging his fingers into the rocks, struggling to continue dredging up strength after the trying day, he noticed Pan glancing down now and then to leer at him.

"Eyes forward, Lad," the lieutenant barked. "We wouldn't want you slipping and falling to your death now, would we?" He couldn't quite keep the viciousness out of his voice that belied his words.

"I'm just fascinated," the boy replied keeping his eyes on the jagged granite. "Choosing honor over your men, I hadn't thought you'd take that course."

A hundred different retorts flew through the lieutenant's mind, and he checked them, but it did no good. He didn't see any movement from the boy outside of simple climbing, but suddenly the reedy notes of his pipe filled the air followed by a quiet crack. Killian felt his throat close and stared at the stone his hand was clenched on before realizing the sound had come from below. Looking down, he saw on of the trailing seamen move his hand, loose rocks falling out from underneath. He scrabbled at the wall, trying to find a new purchase, and before he knew it, Killian heard himself shout, "Hold on!" He started trying to climb back down, knowing it was pure foolishness but unable to keep himself from trying to aid the man.

In a blink, the man's feet went out from underneath him. For a bare moment, he swung on the rock face by one hand. Then he plummeted.

Killian snapped his eyes shut and slammed his forehead into the stone, teeth gritted and breath struggling out; that last image of the man suspended in midair filling his mind even as he heard the hard slap drifting up from below.

"Halverson!" the remaining seaman shouted and the scratching of swift climbing reached Killian's ears. With an effort, he forced his eyes open.

"Don't you dare start climbing down, Beckett!" the Lieutenant snarled, glaring furiously at the pale and shaking man.

"But, Sir!"

"I'll none of it! Whatever Halverson's fate, the best way we can help him and the other is to finish this climb and get that cure-"

"But, Sir, he's my mate!"

"I don't care if you're bloody brothers! Keep climbing or I'll have you flogged, understood?"

"Aye, Sir," came the resigned response. Killian kept him under hawkish scrutiny until he gained some feet in the climb, then turned his attention to his own progress.

The rest of the climb took a long while, with both sailors carefully checking their holds along the way, despite the fact that the lieutenant knew full well that Halverson's fall hadn't been an accident. When Killian finally pulled his feet over the edge and stood on shaking legs, he saw Pan standing a few feet away from him, smirking. Part of the young officer wondered if Pan would simply kick him over the edge, but nothing happened and indeed, the villainous boy had ample opportunity to murder him before then. Part of him wanted to lunge forward and strangle the demon, but he controlled himself with an iron will and cast his eyes down to a golden flower that bobbed gracefully in the breeze and gilded all the brush around it with ochre light.


	10. Counting the Cost

Author's Note: I apologize for the delay. It's pretty difficult to write about a battle of wits between two intelligent people. Your characters can only be as clever as you are, and trying to out-think yourself is like playing chess against yourself. You always lose. LOL Anyway, it should be fairly smooth sailing from here on out, since the last two chapters are pretty straight-forward. That's right, last two. Have fun. I appreciate hearing the good, the bad and the ugly, so please review.

Killian stopped and stared at the flower, taken aback by the oddness of it. He half wondered if he was somehow imagining it; if it would vanish before he could touch it. Then he recalled that Pan was standing right there, toe tapping in the long grass, arms crossed. Killian eyed him keenly and listened to the sailor struggling over the lip of the cliff and crunching the grass behind him.

He had to think quickly. He was standing a yard away from the flower and Pan, despite his underhanded attacks, had yet to open up wholesale slaughter on his men. But what was to keep the little devil from fulfilling his promise now? He still had to get the flower back to the bottom of the cliff, heal his men, journey to the ship, and making good their escape; all while keeping Pan's violence at bay.

"Beckett," Killian said in a low, level tone. "Put the flower in here." He threw a burlap bag toward the flower, but didn't turn to watch as his order was carried out. His icy-blue eyes never left the child in front of him.

There was some rustling, the sound of rich dirt being torn apart, and finally the burr of drawstrings being pulled taught. "Give it to me, Beckett," Killian said then, still not glancing away. He felt like a snake charmer: for the moment his glare stilled the monster, but he feared even a blink might break the spell and the snake would strike.

"Is everything alright, Sir?" Beckett asked.

"It is. I'd just hate for anyone to accidentally drop it." He hinted as blatantly as he could manage, and Pan's eyes narrowed in response. "Go ahead, Beckett, be careful."

As the sailor began to crawl down the cliff, Killian spun and turned hard eyes on Pan, hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The two who remained began to speak at once, but Killian, by merit of his position, was more accustomed to making his voice heard and he cut through Pan's comments sharply. "What would you have me do?" he snarled, barely contained violence flickering in his eyes. "Courtesy of your scheming, they're convinced I'm half mad. If I tell them to abandon the quest, they'll ignore me. If I destroy this flower, they'll bind me up and search every inch of this island. If we're to keep our agreement, then let me do this my way, where I can abandon the flower overboard and my crew will not have time to react as I take us home."

The boy scowled at him, hair flitting in his eyes in the faint breeze. "And what assurance do I have that you'll keep your word?" he asked.

Killian paused, and his eyes studied the ground at his feet, and when he brought his eyes back up to Pan, he offered a thin grin. "I'm desperate to see my crew away from this bloody island, no matter what it takes."

Pan considered him, head tilting as if he were a bird trying to make sense of something. "Lead on," he said at last, gesturing to the cliff.

Killian didn't have to be told a second time, he swung down and began climbing as hurriedly as his limbs could bear him, hardly sparing a thought to hope Pan wouldn't erode the rock beneath his hands.

If anything, the climb down was more difficult, but thankfully there was no hum of pan flute nor any corresponding cracks and tumbles of rocks, and so all three made it down safely. As soon as his boots touched the ground, the lieutenant spun and rushed toward the two prone bodies, shoving his way through his fellows who stood protectively around them.

"Killian!" came his brother's bark, but he ignored it and fell to his knees beside the man who'd been poisoned. Even as his hands found the flower though, his eyes lit on the man's pale, still face. A shaking hand gently touched the man's brow, and upon finding it cold and clammy, traveled down to the man's throat: no pulse.

Killian kept his eyes open, kept his face from so much as twitching, but his teeth ached with the effort. He stood up mechanically, feeling hands on his shoulders, and strode toward the second form on the ground. This time, as he broke through the line of men, he didn't kneel down, he simply froze and felt as if his teeth would shatter. There was no need to search for a pulse on the twisted mess of shattered bones and mangled flesh.

Even to his eyes, which had seen those mauled by cannons and muskets and swords, the sight was sickening. He felt the air grow thin in his lungs and his breathing sped up to compensate. Right when the world switched colors and his knees wobbled, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Glancing over, he saw Liam standing beside him, looking down at the body, silently offering comfort while allowing him to keep his dignity. The younger brother closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths, willing strength into his knees and steel into his heart. When he opened his eyes again, Killian was buried down deep, and only the Lieutenant was present.

He about faced and looked over the men with empty eyes, heat only touching them when he saw Pan standing in the back. "Sir," he said. "I have what we came for. I suggest we see to our fallen and return with all haste to the ship."

"See it through, Lieutenant," Liam replied, and slowly, the men began to work. Briefly, they attempted burial, but even in the clearing beneath the cliff, the thick, tangled roots of the forest made digging with such tools as they had impossible. In the end, they made two large cairns of white stone that was scattered in the woods nearby. There was no chaplain in their small party, but the men did as best they could, saying a few words, some even reciting a few broken snatches of scripture, but there was a hollowness to the occasion. Not a man among them had any delusions. They were sailors and like as not to find their end in a watery grave with no marker but the occasional foam-capped wave. Still, each of them felt their gut twist at the thought of leaving two of their own in anonymous graves in a world they'd never step foot in again.

When all was said and done, they started back toward the ship. Killian's mind snarled at his slow pace, but he couldn't find it in himself to speed on, allowing himself enough self-pity to continue to wallow in his daze, along with the others.

That night, Liam said nothing when Killian joined the others in drinking far more than was good for him. They bound him after he'd passed out and no one bothered to set watch as there were so few left and all were consumed with their misery. It was possible that Pan played his pipes again throughout the night, but it seemed to Killian that he'd come by this night's dreams honestly; dreams of a hideously distorted face, eyes bulging accusingly, and the waxy face of the man he'd accidentally shot. He woke several times weeping and growling into the dirt. At the last, he could see the faint gray of dawn beginning to light the sky and so he leaned back against the tree trunk and waited, determine to dry his eyes well enough that none of his men would see the evidence of his weakness.

The next day continued the pattern; traveling as if in a dream, dreaming as if already in hell, and the day after that was more of the same. Every day though, Killian continued to work out the finer points in his plan, and when Pan would glance his way, Killian met it without hesitation. Whatever else the incident at the cliff had done to him, he was now more determined than ever to save his brother, his crew, his family.

Finally, on the third day, he saw the ship.


	11. Pan or Me This Time

Author's Note: Did I say two more chapters left? Hmmmm... I appreciate hearing the good, the bad and the ugly, so please review.

Those final minutes of the journey seemed to take ages, though their pace turned brisk and eventually all the sailors broke into a sprint toward the shore. Their fellows who'd stayed on the boat these past days rowed out to greet them, and the two groups of men rushed together with laughter and embraces. One side relieved that their companions had finally returned after an unexpectedly long absence, the other giving thanks that they'd soon be leaving that dark shore behind them. Their mood sobered quickly though, when those who came from the ship bothered to count and their comrades realized that explanations were in order.

Killian hung back, watching the men with a wry smile that faded as angry and suspicious looks turned his way. He met them evenly, with the same resolve he'd used to keep his bearing since the men had died, but it cost him.

After a few minutes, Liam spotted him and pity swam across the older man's features. A broad hand clasped the lieutenant on the shoulder and dragged him into the reunion. "Aye, lads," Liam broke into the den, "There's tales to tell and remembrances to be given, but first let's set sail. I think we'd all rather speak over ale and a few games of whist." He winked at Killian at the last. The men cheered and began loading the launches with men and boys to bear them all to the ship.

"Belay that!" Killian shouted, then paused as several dozen curious eyes lighted on him. "Men aboard first and begin hauling anchor. That way, when the children come aboard we'll be ready to sail."

The men looked at him quizzically, and the captain cut in, "It's fine, Lieutenant. A few moment's difference will hardly matter now."

Killian cursed inwardly at his brother's ill-timed interference. "Aye, but Sir-"

"That's enough, Lieutenant," Liam interrupted with a quiet growl. His confusion was evident in the tilt of his brow.

"Liam, listen to me-"

"NO!" Now everyone was staring at them. "Enough of this, Lieutenant! I am your superior officer and you will follow my orders, am I understood?"

The two brothers stood face to face, bulging veins in their brows, eyes flashing, spines rigid. He could see the hurt in his brother's eyes, the quiet question of why he would disrespect him so in full view of the men, why he'd been disrespecting him ever since they arrived on this island, but Killian's mind was full of his unraveling plans. There was no particular reason a fight had to come from Killian's orders and he dearly wished that the ranks weren't clearly marked on their shoulders, wished for a moment that they were both just young men and brothers and that he could burry his knuckles in that proud face. Getting locked in the brig and publicly dishonored would do nothing to aid his cause though. "Aye, Sir!" Killian finally snarled back.

Liam seemed to notice something in him then. He frowned and pity returned to his gaze. "Lieutenant, try to think of the horrors these boys have been through. I don't want them to fear they'll be left alone on this island again."

"Indeed not." He hoped dearly that he kept the sarcasm from his tone. There was nothing for it. He would not allow this evil to reach their own world. With the children intermingled in their number, they'd lose some of the crew if Killian managed to salvage his plan.

He tried to convince Liam to hang back with a few of the other crew members who would be boarding last, suggesting that the captain boarding last would surely comfort the boys' fears of being left. Liam refused; however, stating that he needed to see that the boys were well-situated, but Killian's council was nonetheless sound and it would be best if the second in command remained on the island to the end.

Killian's blood froze and he threw his pride aside, allowing the fear and horror to shine in his eyes as he begged Liam to reconsider. His brother was nothing if not stubborn though, and Killian had pushed him too far over the course of their time on the island. "Just a few more minutes, Lieutenant, and we'll all be headed home," was the most reassuring thing the captain offered.

So Killian waited, and waited, and planned as fervently as he ever had in his life. Still, he couldn't think of any sure way to accomplish his goals. There was no way to get the ship through the portal without the lads coming along, see the flower reached its final destination, and ensure the crew survived. Something would be lost.

As the last boat loaded up with boys and the last two of his men, he took a seat and joined his men on the oars, rowing swiftly toward the ship. The wood of their boat grated against the larger vessel when they drew alongside it, and ropes were lowered to pull the smaller craft up. Bit by bit, it rose out of the water, sailors hauling hard on the pulleys above and when at last they drew near enough to climb over the rail, the boat stopped it's progress. Liam was there to greet them, with Pan standing at his back. It did not escape the lieutenant's notice that once again, Pan's right hand was positioned behind his brother. Perhaps if the children disembarked, he could reach up and pull Liam into the launch with him, avoiding Pan's knife, and they could make their escape.

"All aboard," Killian called with false cheer, but no one moved. "Come lads," he tried again, "climb on over."

"What if we fall?" one of the boys said with a shudder. "I can't swim."

"Nonsense boy, the ship's rail is just there, hardly more than climbing over a log, which I'm sure you've done before."

"But the launch will swing."

It was no true fear that drove the boy. Killian could see the cold gleam of intelligence in his eyes and cursed. "It'll do no such thing," he countered.

"Could you go first? Show us how to do it?"

For a moment, Killian thought his hands would gain a will of their own and strangle the child, but though they shook, he kept them firmly on his knees. He considered ordering one of the men to take the lead, but dismissed it quickly. He would not deny one of his men the opportunity to go home out of pure selfishness. Anyway, he felt certain that the boys would find some way to justify staying put until he boarded the ship, so the end would be the same for him either way.

"Very well," he snarled, causing his men to stare at him in shock. He stood and hopped over the rail with a practiced movement.

"Now are you satisfied?" he demanded, turning back to face them. "Take my hand and come up." He helped first one boy to board the ship. Beside him, Liam stood watching the proceedings with that confused expression he'd been wearing so frequently of late, and Killian's fears were confirmed as he noted the gleam of steel in Pan's hand. His eyes flicked to the sling he'd 'accidentally' left in the launch, and his gut froze as a fresh plan and mortal certainty both entered his mind and he lifted the second boy from the launch.

There was a pause as the lad's bare feet slapped the deck, Killian breathed and begged for another option to present itself.

None did.

He acted.

Lowering his shoulder, he charged between Pan and Liam, knocking the former flat and the latter into the launch. He ignored the captain's shouts of indignation and instead drew his cutlass, swiping at the ropes that held the little boat in the air. With a loud splash and much cursing, the launch fell back to the and in the same breath, Killian felt a wet _thunk_ into his back. His knees buckled, but he threw himself forward onto the rail.

Pain shot through his chest as bright metal scraped against the wood, and his hands lost their grip on his sword. It fell, clattering, into the launch, eliciting more curses as the men dodged away from its sharp edge. It didn't matter though.

He growled and gasped and dug the precious little bean out of his pocket. There was a tug at Killian's chest, and Pan flew up, the bloodied blade in one hand, the other snatching at Killian's fist, but it was too late.

Killian whispered, "Home," and, picturing the sunny harbor they'd departed from, dropped the bean into the sea off the launch's bow. A blinding light flashed, and the launch was gone.

For a moment then, everyone froze, even the wind and the waves seemed to pause as the crew, the boys, and Pan all tried to sort out what had happened. Killian just gazed into the empty water with a faint smile on his lips. Then an inhuman howl filled the air and Pan, eyes glowing with madness, dove at the lieutenant, blade slashing. The blow spun Killian around and he felt his back slam into the rail, making his knees give out. His body slid down the side until he sat on the deck, a red wake smeared across the timbers behind him.

Even though the world flashed white and green, dimmed and brightened so that he could hardly make sense of it, Killian could see the sailor's shocked expressions and felt a moment of glee now that Pan's true nature had been exposed, and when the leader of the boys floated down in front of him, wild rage filling every inch of him, Killian couldn't stop himself. "We won!" he chortled, or he tried to. It came out as a frothy gasp.

"What?" came Pan's impatient snap.

His body didn't seem to crave air anymore, but he was determined to make his last words audible. He shoved his hands into the puddles at his sides and pushed up, straightening his back, struggling for air. A faint whistling was coming from his chest, but he ignored it. "I beat you, you bloody demon!" he breathed, and laughed, but he choked and felt warmth running down his chin.

His arms lost their strength and he slumped again, his head lolled to the side, and for a moment the world vanished in speckles of gray and green, but he blinked hard, stubbornly. His throat growing strangely dry despite the iron that flooded it, and he felt fear filling his eyes, but he forced it back and focused on Pan's face.

The boy was shaking, his face flushed and his temples looking as if they might explode. "You won? You won?! You're a dead man, Killian! Your crew is dead-"

"-but the queen is saved, my brother and some of the crew live. Honor... and family." The words barely straggled from his lips, coming in fits and starts and trailing off, but he could see that Peter heard them.

The boy stepped closer, then leaned down, and as Killian's last reserves of strength failed him, the boy dug his fingers into the lieutenant's hair and jerked his face up, looking eye to eye and as close as death. "We'll see..."

Whatever the boy said after that, Killian didn't hear it. His lungs, ragged and torn as they were, finally gave out, the streams of red slowed to a trickle, and his eyes, once bright and blue, stared dully into the distance.

Lieutenant Killian Jones had done his duty and paid the price.


End file.
